


Close but never close enough

by diamondjacket



Series: Tumblr ficlets [2]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Based on S4E3 Clip 4, Drabble, Even + Sana friendship, Ficlet, Friendship, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Sana's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondjacket/pseuds/diamondjacket
Summary: “Isak,” Even repeats, quiet and a little awed, like he’s testing it out on his tongue.Sana narrows her eyes at him, trying to work out his angle. She remembers the way he used to fixate and focus, used to throw himself relentlessly into his passions, both old and new. Used to live and love and care with his whole body.But she’s never seen him like this.





	Close but never close enough

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little reaction ficlet I wrote right after S4E3 Clip 4 ("Didn't Talk About Him") aired, when we were all freaking out (I'm still freaking out, let's be real). You can find it on Tumblr [here](https://diamondjacket.tumblr.com/post/160016424626/who-is-he-he-sidles-up-next-to-herseemingly), but I thought I'd share it with you fine people, in case it's of interest. :)

“Who is he?”

He sidles up next to her—seemingly out of nowhere, when she’s right in the middle of reviewing her new schedule and mapping out the most efficient route to her next class—and Sana can’t help but give a tiny jump at his sudden appearance.

But he doesn’t seem to notice that he startled her, his gaze fixed and intense on something across the schoolyard.

“Huh?” she says, failing to keep the irritation out of her voice. The first day of school is stressful enough, thanks very much, and though she’s quietly pleased to see Even back on his feet, present and flushed and healthy in front of her, she also didn’t sign up to be his fucking _tour guide_.

This is the year she’s going to get all 6’s, and have an active social life, and be a better daughter. This year, she’s going to have it all.

But not if she gets distracted.

“Him,” Even says, tilting his head in the direction of the bench. She follows his gaze, and sees that four boys have made the bench into a makeshift lounge, legs spread wide and casual, laughing and joking and playfully shoving each other.

“Which _him_ do you mean?” she asks, sighing. She recognizes two of them immediately, the others not so much, but Even is doing that vague, cryptic thing he does when he’s distracted ( _she had almost forgotten how single-minded he could be, and how endearing it is_ ).

She doesn’t have time for this right now.

He glances over and gives her a _look_ , like it should be obvious and that he’s disappointed that she isn’t a fucking mind reader. _Honestly_.

“The one in the snapback,” he says, before he seems to realize that the description could apply to more than one of the boys in question. “The one in the _red_ snapback.”

Sana looks back towards the bench.

_Isak, then._

She lets her gaze linger on him, for a moment, on his stiff posture, his anxiously tapping foot, his half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She doesn’t know him particularly well—everything she does know she’s heard from Eva and Noora, or she’s picked up from a handful of insignificant, forgettable interactions with him at a couple of parties.

It doesn’t actually take a mind reader to know that something’s up with him…but she has enough people in her life to worry about. This boy, this particular boy, this _stranger_ , is not really her concern.

“Oh, Isak,” she says, and Even’s expression softens, just a fraction. _Why?_

“Isak,” Even repeats, quiet and a little awed, like he’s testing it out on his tongue.

Sana narrows her eyes at him, trying to work out his angle. She remembers the way he used to fixate and focus, used to throw himself relentlessly into his passions, both old and new. Used to live and love and care with his whole body.

But she’s never seen him like this.

“Why do you want to know?” Sana asks, tired. Elias always told her that the best way to get through to Even, to cut through the clutter of his spinning, whirring artist’s mind, was to be as direct as possible.

Even is silent for a moment, and his stare is back on Isak, heavy and sharp.

“I just…” he starts, and then pauses, swallowing audibly. “I need to meet him.”

She scrunches up her face, her brow furrowing in confusion.

What’s so interesting about _Isak_ , of all people? Why, on Even’s first day at a new school, after everything that happened, when he’s finally getting his life back together, when Elias still won’t even _talk_ about him…why is _this_ so important? Why would he—

Oh.

_Oh_.

Right.

Sana is quiet for a moment, her mind shifting and reorganizing and putting pieces together to accommodate this new information.

“What about Sonja?” she asks, voice so low it might as well be a whisper.

She’s never met that Sonja girl, only heard her name mentioned in passing by Even and the boys, and from Elias’s playful crowing about how hot she is, and _what the hell’s she doing with you, Ev, eh?_

Seems like forever ago, now.

It’s enough to rip Even’s gaze away from Isak, and he looks down, biting his lip and fiddling with the strap on his backpack like his restless fingers are desperate for something to occupy them.

When he finally lifts his head, he meets Sana’s gaze head-on, and she’s struck by the intensity behind his eyes.

“Sana,” he says, voice thin and pleading. “I need to meet him.”

It’s probably a bad idea. It’s probably the wrong thing to do, and the last thing she needs right now.

But she knows Even—she _cares_ about him, despite everything—and it’s always been her weakness, the caring. It’s always been enough to make her reckless, to drive her to distraction.

She sighs, and brushes her hand against Even’s where no one can see.

“I’ll help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr [here](http://diamondjacket.tumblr.com). <3


End file.
